


somnolence

by jamesstruttingpotter



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesstruttingpotter/pseuds/jamesstruttingpotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe he's dreaming about you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	somnolence

**Author's Note:**

> I'm starting to transfer some of my stuff to AO3; you can find the original stuff (and more) at my tumblr, jamesstruttingpotter.tumblr.com

**i.**

It’s dark.

Oliver has woken up three times before in the last few hours alone, each time hoping he’d open his eyes to sunlight. But it’s still storming outside, the sky an angry purple as it rages.

He’s had a hard time sleeping for the past few months. Scratch that, he’s had a hard time sleeping for five years now. He gets up, pacing, muscles tense as lightning flashes. He finally throws himself into his desk chair, the springs squeaking under his weight.

The mysterious black arrow is still in its drawer, and for a lack of better things to do, he takes it out. There’s precious little information on the shaft, and he’s quickly found that he’s not adept enough with the internet to follow the trail. He gives it one last try, punching the company name into Google.

"Sagittarius," he mutters. A barrage of internet horoscopes come up. He grunts.

"Sagittarius arrows," he tries. The company website is the first result, but unfortunately for him, there’s no "track your arrow!" function.

He tosses the weapon onto his desk, now feeling both sleepy and frustrated. Looks like he’ll be paying another visit to QC IT tomorrow. Or later today, as it were.

Leaning back in his chair, he reviews the last few times Felicity Smoak has helped him. Each time, she’d pursed her lips in just a certain way, letting him know for sure that she wasn’t buying into his bullshit excuses. He feels a disgruntled sigh rise up at the realization that he’ll have to come up with another one.

What would the pretty blonde believe, though? Oliver rifles through a list of increasingly bad options before settling on the least shitty one, already able to picture her head tilt and skeptical expression.

 _She’s cute,_ a part of his brain realizes. Her brightly painted fingernails, ever-present ponytail, glossy lipstick, and keen eyes all come to mind, now that his tiredness has worn away his usual focus. He slowly drifts off, and when he wakes, the sunlight in his eyes reminds him of her smile.

**ii.**

"Crap, you scared the shit out of me." Her voice is more startled than angry, and it softens as she realizes he’s asleep. "Oops."

Felicity bites her lip, holding back further comments about what’s on her tablet. He’d asked her to research further into what she’s pretty sure is a dead end, but it looks like he’s fallen asleep before she can tell him that. Not that she can blame him: he’s been out Arrowing for the past two hours, and it’s nearing one in the morning.

She settles down on the opposite end of the couch, near his head. From past experience she knows he doesn’t sleep for more than twenty minutes or so in the foundry (if ever), so she figures she might as well send a few emails and watch a few YouTube videos about Game of Thrones while she waits.

She’s getting into a great meta about Cersei when all of a sudden Oliver groans. Felicity freezes, looking over at him. He’s tense, grimacing, and she’s about to wake him up from what she assumes is a nightmare when he mutters, “God, Felicity.”

"Excuse me?" she says, not sure whether to feel lost or affronted or… Nope, no, definitely not going there.

His eyes flutter open, and she can see his momentary confusion before he zeros in on her. “Felicity?”

"Why’d you say my name?"

He runs a hand over his face and swings up into a sitting position. “You were arguing with me over the most efficient route from the manor to Verdant.”

She raises her brows. “Seriously? That’s what you dream about?”

He has the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “To be fair, you always harp on about it.”

"Because you clearly don’t understand how to use Google Maps!"

**iii.**

He bolts up in bed, chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead. Phantom lips brush against his ribcage; ghostly legs intertwine with his own. He looks over at the other side of his bed, half-expecting to see blonde hair fanned out against the pillows.

He’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved when empty sheets greet him instead.

**iv.**

There are kids. There’s a little five year old that won’t stop chattering, her hair the same shade of flax that his was at her age. The infant at her side has curly brown hair, and his big blue eyes track her every movement.

He’s sitting at the table with their daughter, handing her crayons as she draws their house. She clamors for her mother to look at the drawing as well, and when the woman turns around, the feeling of warmth that pervades his chest shocks him into consciousness.

Needless to say, he spends the rest of the night making sure he won’t fall asleep again, too freaked out by his own subconscious to even lie down in bed.

**v.**

Later, much later, there is blood. It stains his fingers and soaks into his disguise. Ironically, the only thing he can hear is his heartbeat.

There is too much blood, and it all belongs to Felicity. Her body is strewn on the ground, her eyes closed and a bullet embedded in her chest. He kneels at her side, fingertips feeling for a heartbeat that he knows he won’t find.

"Oliver… Oliver, hey." Warm fingers stroke through his hair and he opens his eyes, disoriented and sore. The clock stares back at him. It’s 3:18 in the morning.

"Felicity?" he mumbles, shifting gingerly to avoid disturbing his bandaged ribs.

"I’m here," she promises, her hair heavy on his shoulder. "I’m still here."

He knows he won’t be able to sleep after having this particular nightmare. But their bed is warm, and her hands are gentle, and that’s good enough to carry him through.


End file.
